Bottle Imps
by munkinette
Summary: "The Emperor's New Clothes" Rumbelle AU


_My Rumbelle Secret Santa gift to dear Mockeryd! _

_Prompt: "model Belle, fashion designer Rumple"_**  
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* * *

It was the time for mortal men to suffer, to be cowered and turned into dust, for the world was bleak and belonged to the mighty, and the mighty were dreadfully cruel.

Stories speak of a time when evil queens and fairy godmothers ruled the earth, and they poisoned apples and spindles, and young princesses' only choices were to run and hide or fall into a deep, black sleep. On those days, few men were merry and many were sad, for hearts were crushed way too easily, and Pandora's Box hardly stayed closed anymore. Good people got turned into gold statues, into rats or snails and then stepped upon, and yes, it was a time to perish, but it was a time to live as well. For there were still princesses who, against all odds, chose to fight, some using swords and arrows, and others with words and books, and there were still knights willing to right wrongs, and giants, and dwarves, and crickets and little wooden boys.

It was a time of contradictions, a time when candelabra could speak and monkeys could fly, and if you owned a pair of magic slippers, you could click your heels three times and vanish; a time of fire-breathing dragons and trolls, of archers and thieves, mermaids and fairies, of enchanted trees and mirrors, genies and magical hats; a time of cats that grinned and wolves that were, deep down, quite human, and a time when humans could be just as ruthless and cruel as wolves. And so it was a time of devouring. The age of wraiths and magic beans, of pirates, pied pipers and portals, of white rabbits, enchanted yaoguais and smoking caterpillars; a time when gingerbread houses burned down, when one could sail a ship for hundreds of years and yet another would lose a glass slipper in a tick of the clock.

And because it was such a time of contrariety, it was when sorcerers thrived the most, watching in glee as the commoners shook, for it was the former's time to take and the latter's time to lose. Everyone believed in magic in those days, because everyone knew that magic was real, alive and abundant, ominous and all too powerful, although not all knew that every single drop of magic came with a price.

King George of the Highlands, with whom our story begins, has known it least of all.

The king was a vain man, implacable and awfully cruel. One day, he summoned an all-too-powerful sorcerer - the Dark One they called him, for he was the most infamous weaver of spools and spells in all the lands -, of whom he demanded to make him new clothes. Magical garments, so exquisite that no other living man would ever come to possess. It was to be done so, for so the king desired.

The great wizard, whose name was Rumplestiltskin, responded to the call and agreed to make these extraordinary clothes for the king, for a price. He would only make garments befitting the greatest and kindest of kings, a man with a sharp mind and a pure heart. And king George listened and rejoiced, signed the sorcerer's deal and waited, for soon he would finally have clothes to his measure. Or so the king had thought.

* * *

It was strange for Rumplestiltskin to lock himself away for three days on end, Belle, the caretaker of the Dark One's castle, mused. She was spending the evening in her, no, _his_ library, comfortably tucked in a thick woollen blanket, but for once the book in her lap holds no appeal as Belle's thoughts wander. Her master is unpredictable, yes, and quite moody, and he certainly does not need either food or sleep to survive, but he is also quite... talkative. Yes, Rumplestiltskin likes the spoken word almost as much as Belle likes the written one, and as much as he's probably enjoying mumbling to himself in that musty tower of his, Belle thinks that he wouldn't be opposed to having a proper conversation with her either. Besides, she's starting to feel quite lonely.

And so, on the early morning of the next day, Belle finds herself climbing the stairs to Rumplestiltskin's tower, because this is what brave, reckless caretakers of scary sorcerers do. Seek their company. The tea things and freshly baked pastries she carries with her are just to lure him in - or rather out of whatever spell he's conjuring. There are less chances of him sending her on her way if she brings him his tea with honey, Belle has come to discover, and Rumplestilskin's sweet tooth has been the source of many, quite enjoyable moments spent together.

Belle gently elbows the door to the tower room, not a little surprised to find it unlocked. It creaks horribly and the tea things rattle, and a wisp of lanolin catches her nose, making her gag. Rumplestiltskin is standing in the middle of the room, a pair of scissors in hand and a manic gleam in his eyes.

"One of those days, then," Belle mumbles to herself. She moves briskly towards him and unceremoniously plops the tray in his hands, clacking against his scissors, and rushes to open a window.

"What are you doing?" Rumplestiltskin looks dumbfoundedly between her and the sudden weight planted in his arms.

"What are _you_ doing? It smells like you've got a dead animal in here!"

"And now it's chilly," he says petulantly.

Belle shakes her head. "Then you can put on one of these clothes?" She offers reasonably, taking a better look around the room. In truth, there are various pieces of clothing in different stages of completion laying on every available surface, little bits of colourful fabrics scattered all over Rumplestiltskin's workbench, chairs and floor. Even his spinning wheel is hidden from view by two heavy cloaks, draped carelessly over it and reaching down to the floor.

"What's with all this?" Belle asks curiously, gesturing to the appreciable pile of garments that's now occupying the centre of Rumplestiltskin's workbench.

At that, Rumplestiltskin eyes his little maid suspiciously, so the little maid eyes him suspiciously right back.

"I need your assistance with something, dearie," he says suddenly, snapping his fingers and making Belle jump, purple smoke enveloping the tea tray and dissipating a moment later to reveal a tailoring meter and tiny piece of chalk in its place.

"Yes?" Belle asks cautiously.

"I need you to try on some of these clothes for me."

"I… What?"

Rumplestiltskin points casually to a small stalk of neatly folded clothes deposited on a tiny stool to his left, and Belle bends to pick up a deep red, high-collared shirt, a rather loose waistcoat and... a pair of leather breeches. "But... these are man's clothes," she says confusedly.

"The king I'm making them for is a small man. You'll do."

At that, Belle's eyes widen "You are serious! You really want me to try these on, don't you?"

"No, dearie, what I desperately want is for you to be downstairs and dusting, but alas, I know that won't happen until that pesky curiosity of yours is satisfied, so you might at least _try_ to be useful."

Belle lifts an eyebrow at that. "So, if I do this, you will tell me the story of this king and why you're making clothes for him?"

"If you do this, I might consider not skinning you and using your pelt for my new coat," Rumplestiltskin grins.

Belle huffs but takes the proffered armful of clothes, and at that Rumplestiltskin giggles gleefully and waves his hand, a screen appearing to the other side of the room. "There, that should do."

"I don't know why I put up with this nonsense of yours," Belle's voice resounds from behind the screen as she traces her fingers over the fabrics, noting for the first time just how fine and well-made they are. Rumplestiltskin's golden thread is woven into each piece of clothing, and Belle finds herself pleasantly thrilled to be wearing something that his own hands have created. Of course, that is not something for Rumplestiltskin to know, or she'll never hear the end of it. Putting on the shirt is easy enough, as is dressing with the waistcoat, however fastening the leather pants proves to pose quite the difficulty. After several attempts, flushed and breathless, Belle emerges from behind the screen, outfit complete.

The fact that Rumplestiltskin freezes in place and stares at her with impossibly wide eyes only makes her blush and general breathlessness grow further.

"Well?" She asks shyly. "How do they look?"

"Ah, good, that's... very good," Rumplestiltskin clears his throat. "Step into the light, dear."

Belle moves towards the centre of the room then, and suddenly feels very small and silly with her bare toes peeking out from underneath the legs of the breeches, which are a little too long for her.

"So you are content with your needlework then?"

Belle yelps as the material suddenly grows much tighter around her hips and backside, and glares at Rumplestiltskin who, in turn, is wearing the most unabashed grin.

"Now I am. Quite content," he says, clapping his hands. Seeing how Belle continues to glower at him, he adds, shrugging, "The king doesn't have your assets, dear."

"Well, let us hope he has my patience, otherwise he will be most discontent with you."

"He will be most discontent when the world sees him for who he really is. A flawed, shallow, hollow excuse of a man."

"What do you mean?" Belle asks, frowning.

"Naked, dear." Rumplestiltskin tittered. "Clothless. Bare. The way his awfully bland mother brought him into this world. These are clothes that no one would be able to see on him."

"Wait... You mean... Am I... Have I been naked all this time, Rumplestiltskin?!" Belle squeaks, hurrying to try to cover herself at best she can.

"What? No!" Rumplestiltskin splutters, blanching as much as a greenish-scaled imp can, seemingly horrified by the idea. "Of course not. That is to be the final step of my spell - adding a potion to the clothes that will turn them invisible. You see, the clothes are quite real, it's the lack of them that is the illusion. These aren't ordinary clothes, Belle. They are fit to be worn by only those of pure heart, so they will only appear invisible on those who are not. The king isn't, but you more than qualify," he adds, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips, and Belle finds herself utterly fascinated by it.

"Oh, I see. I'm sorry that I thought..."

"It's no matter," Rumplestiltskin waves it away, trying to look nonchalant and managing anything but.

"But then you could have just magicked some ordinary clothes. Why take the time and go through all the trouble of making such beautiful things if no one would be able to see them?"

"I am a thorough man," Rumplestiltskin shrugs. "And a spinner and weaver. I can make some damned clothes."

"That you can," Belle laughs.

"Yes, besides, I wouldn't have had all this fun if I didn't," he giggles.

Belle huffs, shaking her head, but the smile never leaves her face as she moves behind the screen to change back into her own clothes and deposits Rumplestiltskin's, neatly folded, on his chair.

"You could have just tried them on yourself, you know. You are tiny like me."

"The Dark one is not tiny. But you could be a tiny toad very soon, if you don't run along," he warns.

"Well, goodbye, Rumplestiltskin," Belle whispers as she turns to leave. Looking back one last time, she manages to catch a glimpse of him, pouring a few drops from a sparkling little bottle onto the clothes and looking positively thrilled with himself, before the heavy door closes in her face with a crack.

That night Belle tiptoes to Rumplestiltsin's tower once more, feeling torn between mischievous and utterly ridiculous. There's no difficulty in locating the tiny sparkling bottle holding the invisibility potion, and Belle eyes it warily. Is this really worth getting turned into a toad for? Yes. The answer is most definitely _yes_. She uncorks it, and, as carefully as she can manage while being the clumsy little thing that she is, Belle pours a couple of drops onto each of the clothes that she has tried on earlier. They are still where she has left them, neatly piled up and away from all the others. Once the deed is done, Belle rushes back to her bedroom, both dreading and impatiently waiting for tomorrow to come.

True to his habit, on the morning of the deal Rumplestiltskin rises bright and early. He's feeling as good as he's anticipated, his step lighter as he springs down the stairs and into the great hall for a light breakfast fetched by his lovely caretaker.

Belle hears his footsteps and peeks her head out of the kitchen just in time to see his bare behind in all its glory rounding the corner into the great room. She muffles a laugh with her hand. So he _did_ put on those clothes, just like she suspected he would!

She knows she has to put a stop to this, and soon. There is no way she would let him leave the castle in this state. Yes, she will tell him when he'll be safely seated at the table and his, what did he call hers? - oh, yes, _assets_ – will be mercifully obscured from view. And then she will prepare to live the rest of her life as a tiny toad scrubbing dirt off that preposterous fountain he keeps in the gardens.

The only thing that Belle's plan didn't account for was Queen Regina barging her way into the castle uninvited that morning, nor for the shriek that followed her entrance and for Rumplestiltskin's not so muffled curses as he figured out what was going on.

"BELLE!"

* * *

"But you have seen the spell work! What more proof could you possibly need to convince yourself that I am nothing but a worthless monster?"

"You are not a monster, Rumplestiltskin. A monster would have punished me for what I did to you that day. You are a man. Flawed, like all people are, but a man that is very dear to my heart." Belle smiled kindly at him, the memory of that day and her recklessness of so many months ago still bringing a blush to her cheeks.

In the end, Rumplestiltskin decided not to return the clothes to the vain king George of the Highlands. No, he would keep them for a time when he would wear them and Belle could see. For a time when he would no longer be the monster that he is now, but a man worthy of her kindness and affection. Worthy of _Belle_. After all, it makes sense for him to break the second deal in his life for the second person that he has ever truly loved.

The end.


End file.
